Over the last eight years of serious(ish) running, there have been many humiliating experiences which have occurred when out on the tiles – or in the gym – personal anecdotes which I hoped many of you could identify with on your own personal roads to fitness. Or, then again, it could just be me who’s the fitness disaster magnet. Ridiculous things seem to happen to me as soon as I skip out of the front door. Highlights: I’ve fallen over twice on Catford High Street whilst changing tracks on my iPod; my sports bra pinged off during an aerobics class; I’ve accidentally weed myself during marathon training in Australia; and I’ve forgotten to take my bra off from under my costume when going for a swim. Need I go on? And this afternoon was no different.
After getting home at 6am this morning I decided to shake off the hangover by heading out for a five miler. After a five minute warm-up and some hot new tunes getting my blood fizzing, I started taking up the pace, iPhone in hand, mentally prepared to get stuck in. Then suddenly, whilst hammering it down Hither Green Lane, my iPhone went flying out of my hand, skidded across the pavement and then settled underneath some old banger parked on the side of the road. There I was, laying sprawled tummy-down on the ice desperately reaching under the car, but alas, my bastard phone was out of reach.
The curtains were twitching. Passers-by were looking at me like I needed to be sectioned. Eventually after ringing door bells half way down the street I found the car’s owner, an old codger who wouldn’t initially open the door (I was wearing a hoodie) whom then – once assured I wasn’t going to rob or kill him – lent me his mop which transpired to be a genius phone scooper.
Luckily, phone was intact (yes, I did kiss it) but alas, not my pride. I felt like the biggest prat ever. However, like always, I brushed myself down and disappeared off down the road. Until next time…